Page:Roden Noel - A Little Child's Monument - 1881.pdf/87

Of Love's forlorn despair we bend,
Hoping life's dull pain may end;
Till anon some organ sounds
In the street, but no glad bounds
Of a child's light feet we note
Run to hear the music float,
Climb upon a chair to see
Dancing dolls' bedizened glee,
Or the monkey's mimicry.

What shall I do? … Full many others,
Little ones who seem his brothers,
Take delight in things like these!
Do they ail, or doth the breeze
Of pleasure ripple o'er their faces,
I will contemplate their graces;
I will be a minister
The fountain of their joy to stir,
In such resorts, and by such measures,
As were wont to yield him pleasures;
Or where little hearts may ail,
Love's yoke-fellow, I will not fail,
Where are tears and visage pale,
To quell the tyranny of Fate,
Or man, that renders desolate:
And I deem he will approve
In the bowers of holy Love,
Near and nearer to me move.